


The Color of Light

by Agrotera



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Act 3, Desire Demons (Dragon Age), Dubious Consent, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-05
Updated: 2017-04-05
Packaged: 2018-10-14 23:45:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10546388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Agrotera/pseuds/Agrotera
Summary: A desire demon has gained a foothold in Sebastian's mind. Every night, it offers him what he wants more than anything else, and every night, he gives in.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Content note: No matter how you slice it, this is dubious consent.

Sebastian knew what is was to drown.

Though it was past midnight, though his exhausted body begged for sleep and his knees ached against the cool, hard flagstones of his room, he did not rise. He stared instead into the flinty eyes of Andraste, she who had given all to save their world, and she who had saved him. Andraste stared on ahead, no more acknowledging him than she might a mouse, or the passage of time, or some other mundane, trivial thing.

He did not kneel out of some provincial belief that pain was substitute for true penitance. He did not beg forgiveness, or grace, or fortune. He kneeled hoping Andraste would hold his head above water. For at night, when he let his mind wander from thought of Andraste’s strength and sacrifice, he began to slip down again. Down, into the dark of false sleep, into the roiling viscous sea of the Fade.

But the Fade always won, it’s pull stronger than even Andraste’s, for his vein of animal grief was wider even than his faith. He fell, and fell, and fell.

#

The dark waters of his Fade-dream rolled over him waves. It was hot and cold in turns and always clinging, oily, acrid. He slipped beneath the waves like a stone and plummeted down into the crushing depths below. He tried to kick for the surface shimmering so far above him, but every kick was less effective than the last, and soon he was struggling to keep his breath.

Finally, he could hold his breath no longer, and the weight of the dark pressed the air from his lunges. In a panic he inhaled, and tendrils of night slithered down his throat. It invaded his lungs. It unspooled in his belly and buried thorny seeds in his flesh. The Fade-sea filled him up. And when he could fit no more crawling dark beneath his skin, he screwed shut his eyes and let it take him away.

He opened his eyes to soft light streaming in from high windows. He rolled over and coughed, tried to expel the Fade-sea from his guts. Nothing came up but saliva and bitter bile.

He was in a bed fit only for a Prince of Starkhaven, wrought of intricate carved wood and draped in lush fabrics dyed a royal red. Dread overcame him then. He rolled to his other side and nearly into the arms of Marian, who slept so soundly at his side.

He tried to scramble away, to flee this nightmare, but Marian’s hands snaked around his waist and pulled him against her. She pressed her bare flesh against his and whispered his name in his ear.

 _Sebastian,_ she said.

He recoiled. Panic unfurled in him like mist rolls across a lake. He pulled away, but she only pulled him closer. She pressed her lips to his, and murmured again his name against his lips.

How he wanted to give in to that kiss. How he ached for her. But this—this was not Marian, not the fierce, cursed woman he loved. This was a demon wearing Marian’s face.

He knew the demon almost better than the woman it mimicked, for it locked him away in the Fade every time he closed his eyes. It had tempted him with fortune once, with fame, power, the adoration of his people. None of them had swayed him. For months it puzzled over his desires. But then Marian’s mother was murdered and he was forced to live again the memory of hearing his family had been murdered, and the demon finally made the link.

The demon discovered his weakness. The demon found Marian and held his regard for her against him. Over and over again, it tempted him. And over and over again, he gave in.

The demon wearing Marian’s face trailed a hand across his chest. She kneed his legs apart and wormed herself between them. He struggled against the demon still, but less, for as much as he hated the demon, as much as he despised himself, the size of his want for Marian overtook his loathing.

She kissed below his jaw, biting at the skin of his neck. She rubbed herself against him. He grew hard even as he gritted his teeth and tried one final time to pull away. But her draw was too much, and when she took him in her hand, he gave up struggling. Lost to her, lost to the demon, lost to the heart of his longing. Andraste’s light, how much he wanted to devour her.

He pulled his hand down her spine and pressed her against him. He rolled them over, put her below him. She fell back against the pillows, laughing.

He kissed the smooth skin between her breast, ran his palm across the flat of her stomach. He drew his head lower, lower, until he found her hot and wanting. When he pushed his tongue between her folds, she gasped, and an immense satisfaction rolled over him. The skills he’d earned in his rakish youth served him well, and he put them well to use with her.

Her breath stuttered when he found her clit. He lapped at it gently, tantalizingly slowly, until she was breathing hard. She wound her hands through his hair and pulled, pressing his mouth hard against her.

Knowing she was close, he slowed, pulled away. She growled then, and he couldn’t help but laugh. Marian’s ferocity, her hunger, her slightly feral edge bled into all corners of her life, their lovemaking included. In his Fade-dreams, it was often wild, occasionally violent, and left him with a dick hard as granite when he woke.

He sat up on his knees. Grabbing her hips, he yanked her toward him. When he had her well in place, he laid down beside her. She threw a disapproving glance his way, but the force of her disapproval was marred by the deep red of her cheeks, by her damp brow, her pupils wide and black as the night.

He grabbed her ass and pressed his cock against her belly. She reached down to touch it, but he grabbed her wrist and pulled it hard away. He reached between them for her other arm and caught hold of that wrist as well. With one long-fingered hand he drew both of her arms above her head. He held her like that, trapped and arched, exposed, until she began to beg.

 _Sebastian, please._ She breathed his name like a prayer.

He only tightened his grip. “What is it you want?”

_Sebastian—_

He hitched his leg over her, grinding their hips together. His cock throbbed.  
“Tell me what you want.”

She turned her face away from his, feigning embarrassment. He grabbed her chin with his free hand and yanked it back toward him. He put his lips a hair’s breadth from hers.

“Say it, Marian,” he whispered.

She shivered at the feel of her name rumbling off his tongue. _Fuck me. Please. Sebastian, please, fuck me._

“Good girl.” He moved his free hand down. He parted her lips with his fingers and teased at her entrance. She struggled against him, trying in vain to pull her wrists free of his hand, but he had leverage, reach, and superior strength.

Tantalizingly slowly, he slid two fingers into her cunt. She was slick and wet, burning hot around his hand.

 _Sebastian—_ she whined.

He slid a third finger in, pushed them as deep as they would go. Then he curled them, pressing against the roof of her cunt, and she let out a long groan. The skin was different there, soft and almost spongy.

He pressed and curled his fingers against that spot, slowly gainly speed. Every time he touched it, he hips would hitch, her clit twitch, her breath comes in tiny gasps. He slid a fourth finger in. Then, palming her cunt, he brushed his thumb over her clit.

She yelled and writhed against him. He felt a corresponding tightening in his own balls. His cock, trapped between the press of their bodies, leaked small bits of seed that spread messily across their bodies.

He moved his fingers in and out of her, all the while rubbing at her clit with his thumb. Soon her hips were bucking against him, aggressively fucking his hand. He strengthened his grip on her wrists until it was tight enough to bruise.  
“Should I finish you, I wonder?” He whispered in her ear.

She was only capable of a stuttering, high-pitched whine. His stomach clenched. Was it wrong to want her this way, so vulnerable, so needy?

“Say please.”

_P-ple—ah!_

He crushed his mouth against hers and bit down hard on her lip. As the coppery taste of her blood spread across his tongue, she shouted her climax into his mouth. She clenched hard around his hand, shaking and twisty like a leaf in a gale. Her back arched so hard he nearly lost his grip on her hands.

Then it was over. She shuddered and went limp beneath him, gasping for breath. He gathered her to him and she shook weakly, her skin sticky with sweat. Blood from her lip stained her mouth and smeared across her cheek.

He expected her thanks or some coy remark, but she only grinned pointedly at him, showing a little too much teeth.

Like he had been slapped in the face, he was reminded that this creature was not Marian, was not even really alive. They were not in the royal suite in Starkhaven, or even in a bed at all. They were in the little prison the demon had made for him, where it kept him every night.

He had little time to feel revulsion or shame. The demon reached between them and took him in its hand.

 _Do you want to fuck me with this, Sebastian?_ It asked him with wide, innocent eyes and that dangerous grin.

“Get away from me, foul creat—“ He hissed the words, but was cut short when the demon slid down and slipped his head between its lips. He let out a small, involuntary gasp.

It moved its lips down his length, taking in more of him at once without stopping for breath than any real human could. It opened its throat to him, and he slid effortlessly into its mouth to his hilt. He could feel the muscles of its throat and tongue moving against his length.

It was all that he could do not to cry out. Never had he felt so completely at the mercy of another as this.

The demon drew his cock out, then drove it back in, bobbing slowly, then quickly, hungrily, on him. The crushing pressure in his balls mounted. Then the demon pulled his cock from its mouth entirely. The length of him was slick with its saliva and his pre-cum.

 _My, my,_ it cooed. _Whatever should I do with this?_ It teased the head of his cock with Marian’s callused duelist fingers. _I think I’d like to ride it. Would you like that?_ It looked at him with that feral grin again.

Looking into its eyes, he couldn’t help but see Marian, to feel her. That was the demon’s greatest deceit, its most terrible power: even if he knew what it showed him was a lie, he could not help but desperately believe it real.

The demon’s grin receded and was replaced by Marian’s own wicked smile. His breath hitched in his throat. But his desire and misery blotted the voice out, and he was overcome once again, lost to the demon’s control.

He flipped Marian onto her back. Roughly he parted her folds with his head and pushed inside. They gasped a little in unison. Marian felt so tight around him, so slick. He lifted her hips off the bed and pushed himself deeper inside.

“Ah, Andraste, Marian—“

He had the niggling feeling that this was wrong, somehow, but couldn’t place why. Were they not married beneath Andraste’s loving gaze? Did they not sit on the throne of Starkhaven as husband and wife? He had left the Chantry. They had done everything right, done everything by the strictures of their faith. Why, then, did this feel wrong?

But his misgivings were washed away when he snapped his hips against hers, driving himself deep, and she cried out. He slowed, not wanting to finish so soon, and Marian took that opportunity to stop him. She ran her hands up his thighs until she reached his hips. With him still inside her, she leaned forward and pushed him backward. Sebastian fell into the pillows behind him.

Marian pushed her hands against his chest and pulled herself off him.

_You don’t get to come until I say so. Do you understand?_

“Marian—“ he began, but she put a finger to her lips and sank down on the length of him, consuming him up to his hilt. He gasped, and she laughed. Then she began to roll her hips forward, hands still on his chest, pressing him into the bed.

She sped up and slowed down at maddening intervals. Every time Sebastian nearly reached his peak, she would slow, and smile, and wait for his near-climax to pass. Only when he reached down and slid his hand between them to find her clit sticky with their cum did she speed up again.

She rode him hard, grinding her hips down against him. Soon, too soon, it was too much for him. A cry built in his throat. Before he let himself go, he looked to her, and found a vision straight from the Maker. Head thrown back, mouth open, back arched, her cunt full with him. She almost seemed to glow.

He pressed his fingers to her clit again, and she cried out, clenching around him. It was too much—his climax crested over him like a great wave. He was washed head to toe in a tide of pleasure that radiated like liquid fire from his groin. It curled his toes, stopped his breath in his chest, made him clench his teeth.

Slowly the tide receded and he lay back, utterly spent. Marian let his now-flaccid cock slide out from between her legs. Though the both of their torsos were sticky with sweat and cum, she fell down beside him and threw an arm across his back.

The confusion crept back, bringing with it the sense that something was amiss. He turned to look at her at found her staring at him with yellow eyes and a pointed-teeth smile. His heart seized. Looking at his face, the demon laughed. He remembered, then, what this creature was and where he was held and felt the bed drop out beneath him. He fell again, plummeting down through a darkness that echoed with Marian’s laughter.

He slammed flat on his back onto his narrow cot. He bolted upright, gasping for a breath he couldn’t seem to catch. The light shining through the narrow, high window of his room told him it was nearly midday. He looked down and found his belly and his thin sheets smeared with his seed.

A pit opened up in him. In his chest bubbled burning shame. He dumped it into the pit, hoping to be free of them both, hoping to be free of the memory of the demon’s touch. But the pit was bottomless, and the rush of shame never-ending. There was no cure for this pain, no salve that would soothe this torment. Until he bested the demon that preyed on his desire, he was to repeat again and again its grim midnight dramas.

He stumbled from his cot on weak, shaking legs to a small wash basin on his dresser. Gingerly he wiped the drying seed from his skin. He splashed his face with water, but could not cool the burn in his cheeks.

The demon had him, truly had him. He shook his head. How had he strayed so far from Andraste’s light? A brother of the Chantry, possessed in his dreams by a demon of desire. What did it want? Who would it use him to hurt who it possessed him fully?

He could not nightly profane Hawke in this way. But neither could he banish the demon on this own.

He stared at his hands.

He could not live like this anymore.


End file.
